


Ambiguous Attachment

by Hyoushin



Series: Side Effect [2]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Violence, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyoushin/pseuds/Hyoushin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tall and strong, handsome and valiant.</p><p>He fitted perfectly within the stereotype of the ideal knight, described in the fairytales he once had read in his father’s personal library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ambiguous Attachment

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This fic's supposed to be Reluctant Ruth's sequel.  
> 2) I'm still not sure about the rating, M or T? TG has messed with my head.  
> 3) As usual, the warning about tense/grammar errors and all that. (this fic was very difficult to edit and proofread for me, dunno why.)  
> 4) Random: I'd like to write some Tsukikane.

 

Ken was running.

Bright blinking flecks of scarlet fire illuminated his path, like little floating candles serving as a guide, but inside of this boundless obsidian void, it was not enough. He was drained and lost.

His feet hurt, his breathing in a fast, hard tempo. He kept running, muscles straining themselves, propelling his body toward an endless wild race, as his instinct howled, screamed: _do not_ _stop, do not look back._ It would be the end if he did: a tacit fact.

Even so, Ken desired to stop and enjoy a brief respite from this mad incessant hunt. How long had he been running? Hoping for an answer, he delved into his agitated mind, probing shy mental corners with questions that tumbled into hysterical senseless grumbles when sepulchral silence deafened him. Always, always, he would always forget that a frightening dead emptiness was what replied.

He despised the persistent want to satisfy this overwhelming curiosity: to look over his shoulder and see what was behind him—hot on his heels—no matter how strong it was though, he resisted the urge, the effort exhausting him even more than he already was.

Who—what—was pursuing him? He didn’t know. He only knew about the heavy weight of his tired limbs; the anxious clench of his teeth; the faceless choking terror; the presence looming over him, grazing his back; its scorching touch leaving blood blisters behind.

His body was being strangled by this oppressive and furious red-heat—it was an effervescent liquid simmering his flushed skin as well as a relentless hammer cracking his cranium—sweat-drenched black hair remained static while he shook his head in a frantic mix of anger, perplexity and frustration; a crazed glint shone in his ashen eyes as a stench of burnt putrid meat pierced his nostrils.

He ran and ran within the confines of a forsaken inferno, hating and cursing its keen violent swelter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ken broke the tight protective hold on his body, freeing long fingers that were tangled up in his messy white hair. He placed the hand atop the chest of the soundly asleep investigator. He observed him, his mind taking in some gleaned details that made up this person. Tall and strong, handsome and valiant.

He fitted perfectly within the stereotype of the ideal knight, described in the fairytales he once had read in his father’s personal library, and when he had passed away, it had become _his_ dear library, and just being there cocooned by ingenious engrossing prose depicting beautiful maidens, brave soldiers, witty detectives or, his favorite, obscure protagonists of unconventional stories, had made bright and fantastic his otherwise insipid childhood.

The man's warmth and scent encompassed him; and suddenly, there was dangerous hunger and persuasive temptation disrupting his nostalgic remembrance. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. He needed to leave. Yet, he stayed where he was, motionless, lying beside him, watching the smooth rise and fall of his chest. The man looked peaceful, vulnerable, and so, so completely _human_. A quick temporary surge of longing threw him off balance. That was also dangerous, wasn’t it?

To wish for something he couldn’t have, no matter how hard he tried. He wouldn’t ever regain the other half of his humanity. What had remained had been broken—chopped, slashed, sheared, gashed, again, again, again—in numerous tiny pieces, utter disintegration, until nothing, absolutely nothing had been left.

He really needed to leave.

He got up; unwillingness dragging down the speed of his movements. He would make sure to erase any trace of his stay, he had nothing else to give as thanks for what the investigator had done for him.

In the bathroom, the mirror in front of him reflected his deformed truth. He wanted to crush it. Was it normal to hate mirrors? He hated them now. Mirrors were too sincere, he realized. He had changed. He didn’t want to look at himself. He didn’t want anyone to look at him. If he couldn’t recognize himself, who would be able to? If he couldn’t remember who he was, would someone remember in his stead?

His own self was falling out of reach. All of his memories—his identity—dashing away from him. No, no, that couldn’t happen, because, who was he going to be? No, in this instant, who was he? He wasn’t the person he had been, that was for certain. However, he wasn’t another person entirely. He hadn’t been wholly replaced. He hadn’t allowed that at least. But, who was he? He couldn’t—he couldn’t answer.

The daunting emptiness left him afloat.

(Who am I-who am I-who am I)

He clutched his head with both hands. There was no answer.

Only the vexing feeling of forgetting something crucial. Darting glances at everything and nothing, he noticed blood stains, a black bloodied uniform, and the clothes he had used in _that_ place, laying on the tiled floor.

Bereavement. Forlorn fortune. He didn’t know why yet but it seemed appropriate to mourn.

Had he made the right decision?

Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t, because yes, he hadn’t turned the page yet. He had altered himself for a reason.

 _He_ was alive.

Ken would seek him out.

The curtain couldn’t be lowered still, couldn’t be lowered till the beast was condemned to its downfall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The face of his pursuer was an aggravating mystery.

But—Ken ran.

Across a gloomy and foggy passage, that had been stretching on for miles and miles away until a plain wooden door had come into view; a narrow door without a knob or a handle, but when he had raised a hand to push, the door harshly had swung open by itself, emitting an extremely long and loud creak.

There had been no other direction to turn to, no other possible choice, so he had stepped inside. Soon after, the door had disappeared and the thick mist had dissipated slowly, a startling clarity taking hold of the spacious garnet room.

“It’s nice to see you again, Kaneki-kun.” The enchanting voice drawled.

He should have stayed before the threshold. It would have been better. Regrets were bitter and painful, they came in different shapes and sizes, and they were steadily piling up, making his soul heavier and harder to carry.

Long straight violet hair covered her bare bouncing breasts. The curvaceous figure sauntered towards him. “What’s with that expression? It’s not cute at all. Don’t you like me anymore? How sad indeed.” She sighed in a slight dramatic manner, before abruptly turning away with a subtle appealing sway of her hips. Smiling at the grating noise, she drew a chair, setting it close to the bed and sat, crossing her long legs; at once looking relaxed and regal in her elegant nudity.

“What is he doing here, Rize-san?” Ken asked, trying to stamp down the rising rage within as he gazed at the monster under the bed.

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head to one side, her eyes showed genuine puzzlement. “You caught _it_ and brought it _here_. Thank you, by the way, now when I feel lonely, I play with it.” This harmonious sweet giggle of hers reverberated throughout the room. “Were you feeling lonely too, Kaneki-kun?”

Illogical. It should have been a horrendous acrid sound. “Did you come here to play with me? If so, Yamori-san, go away, I want some privacy.”

“Here, come here, Kaneki-kun,” she beckoned him, waving her fingers.

Ken couldn’t help it any longer and his burning fury burst from him. In the blink of an eye, he moved and charged, snatching her silky hair, entwining it around his palm like yarn, using her tresses like a rope to pull her body across the monochromatic checkered floor; she cackled at her punishment with depraved delight while shouting: “See? See? Do you _see_?”

Under the bed, chains rattled as an answer, before the pet was dragged and consumed by claws and fangs made of darkness.

“Shut up. _Shut up_!” Ken released the violet hair and grasped her slender neck, black sharp nails stabbing the pliant skin. Cold-silver-red viciousness swirled uncontrollably in his eyes, as he squeezed firmly, tightly, more and more till her neck gave in and snapped. She didn’t even attempt to struggle.

To his surprise, her limb body was, simultaneously, rotting and fading; but, after a short time, he felt arms snaking their way around his waist and breasts against his back. He hissed at the stinging sensation her hold had transmitted, shaking her off immediately.

“Sorry, Kaneki-kun!” Rize exclaimed, without an ounce of honesty. “Maybe you’ll like this…?” A layer of plain wickedness adorned her features.

“What did you do to me?” He asked, his words slurred, his legs trembled, receding step by step until the back of his knees tapped the edged of the bed. He felt somewhat disoriented, but he could discern the touch of masculine arms encircling his torso, gently pulling him backwards until he sat down on the bed, with his back supported by broad solid warmth—this salve—he knew its source.

“Several encounters, plenty of opportunities to eat him and you didn’t, he even presented you with his blood and flesh, but you only took a small part of him! Haven’t you learned anything? I thought you were improving, but you keep eating disgusting meat. We’re going to die at this rate!” Rize twirled and twirled around, in a very graceful manner, as if she was in the middle of a grand performance before a great charmed audience. Perhaps, if this world had been a different one, she could have been a dancer. “I’m very disappointed!” She yelled, a blurry tail of fiery violet following her every movement.

All of a sudden, she interrupted her carefree dance and twisted her back to glare at him, “there’s always someone feeding your selfishness. Are you going to add him to your ever growing list?” She glided back towards the bed, her body facing him, thrusting one foot into the mattress over and over as she stated, “we cannot give! We take-take- _take_ , this is our nature!”

The young woman bent forward, her mouth near his ear, “there’re thousands of people roaming around the world. If you don’t use them, they’ll use you. ” Her sly whispers, forever rock-hard and petrol-black. “ _Koutarou_ -san—”

“Don’t! Don’t call him—!” Ken shut his eyes, ashamed, he didn’t want to remember that; he hadn’t meant to go that far—to lapse into dissolute chaos—to hurt him like that.

Panic and anger were festering, since he was sure she would further contaminate his memories. She would play with them, scrunching them beyond recognition with her toes, as a mischievous child would do with an innocent row of hard-working ants, because this was a game, everything was a childish game to her. It would be his no longer, those lingering fragments of real salvation, of clear kindness, of old hope. He had been holding on to them, in secret, like a cherished but forbidden keepsake, because if he wasn’t careful that could mean weakness, weakness, more disgusting weakness.

“Sometimes you call him like that, it slips out, and every time it does, it’s so tenderly.” She said softly, never censoring the abundant contempt dripping from her tone. “You’ve been craving what he gave you. You think I don’t know?”

There was triumph glowing in her eyes. “Don’t ever dare to forget I’m a part of you. We see-we feel-we eat-we’re one.”

The stream of words were like bullets coming out of a machine gun. Her sadistic affection found its own voice by way of her varied attacks; swift and sizzling attacks that were all aimed at him, most of them impossible to deflect.

“It’s bad to get attached to your food, Kaneki-kun.” A sinister smirk twisting her lips. “You still remember his taste don’t you?” She grinned, luminous merlot oozing out of her parted mouth, “ _Good_.” Her eyes were being smeared with a copious amount of ink. “He tasted good. Strong and inebriating like hard liquor.”

“Stop. Stop. _Stop_!” He muttered, but his voice didn’t even reach his ears; it was far, far away: a distant ancient echo.

“Inside this degenerate universe of yours, this is my room. I can do whatever I want.” Rize began to laugh, pointing at the high concave ceiling that had started to bleed profusely.

It would be nice indeed, if he were able to immerse himself in her beautiful insanity; therefore, if he continued to pretend, laughing together with her, perhaps there would come a day where he would be free and enjoy all of it.

The vile infamous demoness laughed and _laughed_.

Gloating at him, displaying a dreadfully elated countenance.

Rize’s heartfelt laughter—her venomous merriment—had been directed at his irrevocable corrupted evolution.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Foolishness. Recklessness. This was barely the beginning.

“You lead me—you lead us—here. You almost killed him, why didn’t you finish him off?”

For a moment, Ken had been tempted to devour the monster. He hadn’t done so, but if he had, if he had teared, munched and gulped down its meat, what would have happened? Would he have become stronger? No, he had trained and trained for this one fight. He wouldn’t take the short route, he had decided, even if a boost in strength had been guaranteed.

And it was also meaningless to become the strongest when he was already close to losing his soul.

“I don’t care what happens to him. Your people can eat the leftovers.” Ken said, his voice hoarse, feeling faint, fatigued and frozen in this dark corner; hiding amid midnight shadows as he rested on the ground. “Why haven’t you sold me out? You’d be in trouble…if your partners were to know what kind of contact you’ve been using to get this kind of information.”

“You’re partly human.” Amon muttered, narrowing his eyes.

“Ah, yes, human, does thinking about that make you feel better? Because a human couldn’t have done what I just did.” Ken clenched his fists. Right now, every little thing would arouse the anger he had been trying to get under control.

Ken had detected the investigator’s ambivalent struggle, which Amon had been fomenting unawares, by interacting with him. Ken was being harsh, bringing unwanted doubts to the front of the man’s mind. But he was surprised, when he glanced up and saw Amon seating next to him, rolling up the left sleeve of his dress shirt—when had he taken off his white coat and his suit jacket? They were hastily folded on the ground beside the right knee of the man.

His mind, he couldn’t trust his own mind. Wasn’t that such a sad thing?

He tried to concentrate and watched the steady way in which Amon sliced diagonally, with a flick blade, the inside of his arm, the skin splitting up above the crease of his elbow. Coveted red elixir gushed forth from the rather large superficial cut.

Ken had been loathing the act of eating human flesh since the start, he had been clinging to that sentiment in a stubborn manner; the only thing that made him feel less like a stranger that had robbed another’s body; and Amon knew about that, Ken had told him. So, why was he—? He just remembered. Of course. Doves were all over the place tonight, intent on catching fugitives like him. He had to escape, as fast as he could. He couldn’t do that in this weak and pathetic state.

With his baritone voice, Amon’s rumbled offer sounded like an irresistible order. “It’s only blood. Don’t waste it. Take it and go.” He placed his extended arm before Ken’s eyes that flared while staring at the bleeding wound. Before another droplet could fall to the ground, a natural ghoulish impulse awoke, and Ken slid his tongue over the red trail, attaching his lips to the wound, teeth puncturing the skin far more than what was necessary as he sucked with dreadful voracity. A heated haze had ensnared his mind and within him, his hunger for human flesh thundered.

(His flavor. Strong and inebriating.)

His mismatched eyes were alight, waves of ecstasy captured his senses. Thin and long, lethal and pointy, his Kagune had emerged, red arms moving with sinuous grace, jabbing at the air, and vibrating with bloodthirsty excitement. A muffled groan of sheer satisfaction came out of his throat, and Ken could feel through his mouth and fingers, subtle tremors traveling across the arm he had in an iron grip.

Ken took a deep breath and looked up to find blue eyes studying him, an unusual fascination could be read on his handsome face. Ken didn’t want to know what he was seeing; for the guilt and shame couldn’t restrain him from riveting the man’s gaze and asking _just_ for a little bit more as he leisurely lapped his blood coated fingers.

This was what she would do, and he hated her bewitching powers, but it was getting hard to stop due to the emboldening sensation racing through his veins—was that what she had always felt?—he was panting, straddling his lap indecently, ripping his shirt nimbly, positioning his mouth above an unmarked shoulder with unholy anticipation—he couldn’t stop, he really couldn’t—what? No! But—the human was dazed, compliant and appetizing—and she told him what to do, how to move, teaching him everything just so he could—

Ken bit into his prey, lacerating him, pulling some of his skin and flesh between his teeth, blood flooding his mouth and—chewing-moaning-slurping-chewing-humming—each sound so intense, so dirty, so obscene—pure gratification melodiously singing out loud inside of him.

Foreign voices were nearby. Ken swallowed. His being throbbing with power and pleasure.

_Be polite, Kaneki-kun._

With half of his face—cheeks, nose, mouth, chin—covered with fresh blood, Ken said, huskily, “Thank you, _Koutarou_ -san,” before pressing his red lips against his.

_Well done, Kaneki-kun. I’m proud of you._

After ensuring his human’s survival, Ken disappeared. Leaping and running into the darkness in a hurry.

On the list, his former doctor was next.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ken had stopped running. No one had been behind him. He had smiled, feeling silly.

For the first time, he turned around and saw something unexpected and beautiful.

A salty breeze caressed his white hair, as his footprints were imprinted down on the cool brown sand. He peered into the horizon, enthralled by iridescent sparkles upon the rich healthy blue of the sea; the sky tinted with a blend of caramel, canary and honey. Silence and serenity filled his mind; the pain and fear he had been feeling were gone.

How he had arrived at this place or why he was here, he didn’t know, he probably forgot, but that was fine, since there was no need to know anything anymore. Then, he looked down and realized the lower half of his body was wet; when did he walk into the sea? He didn’t know that either, but that was fine too, since there was no need to keep track of his actions anymore.

Gradually, the rest of his body descended until he was beneath the surface, a comfortable pressure enveloping him, walling off his mind from reality.

Before closing his eyes, Ken had seen a strange image in the water: a boy half shrouded by white mist, with black hair and grey eyes; and in a blissful instant of lucidity, he had finally understood that, all along, he had been running away from himself.


End file.
